


Rose Compilation

by KiobiTheKid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Sadstuck, WIP, i'll add tags and bump ratings as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiobiTheKid/pseuds/KiobiTheKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of one shots, short stories, and drabbles featuring Rose Lalonde. Her relationship with Kanaya will be a focus in some of these stories, and merely mentioned or non-existent in others. Work in progress, I'll add stories as I write them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. State of Dreaming

Pristine, she thought. Dark. It was fitting and sad. Fittingly sad. Not even worthy of a story book ending, or of its own story in the first place. 

The town was pristine and dark. It hadn’t always been. At a time not so long ago it had been vibrant and choked with life; wizards danced in street corners, cats played with dogs, a colorful assortment of the strange and beautiful milled about. Her mother owned a liquor store in the back streets and her friends visited often. It was a mess, but it was her mess, or rather their mess. 

Darkness clenched its hand into the pristine streets and she didn’t think she could pinpoint the exact moment when people had left. They peeled away so slowly she barely noticed until they were all gone. With them they took the noises of big life, the smells of a crisp ignorance and childish wonder, and her friends. Her mother was hardly the last person to leave, but she was the last person Rose went searching for. She was almost bitter to see the liquor store door shut tightly, like even in her absence she would be so aggravatingly polite as to close up after herself. 

The atmosphere was dark and pristine; color had drained from the shop windows and even the library lost its luster. There are only two people here now. Rose and the girl holed up in her old books. The door to the library was locked, but Rose chose not to be bitter. In fact she was grateful there would be someone to take after her books when she could not. 

The books appeared pristine and amiably darkened as she walked to the book drop for a final time. Begrudgingly, she released her Grimoire first, blinking at the way the dust settled. Then she pushed her personal journal in the slot and looked up to see the girl inside the library waving at her. She didn’t wave back. 

Her head was dark and pristine, she thought, making her way to the back streets. The liquor store door was still wide open from her first visit and when she entered not a bottle was out of place; not so much as a speck of dust there disturbed. That would change too. Feeling the world starting to sink around her, Rose locked the door behind her. 

Pristine was an ugly word, even uglier than the dark because they were sad, fittingly sad, and it made her sick to her stomach in so far as to watch the bile curl up out of her head and onto the linoleum and she didn’t care. Pristine was the word for the world outside. She left and that’s what made it clean. Dark was the word for anger coiling in the pit of her stomach and her eyes if she even so much as thought about light. 

Dark and pristine used to be words. It isn’t always that way now. Now she thinks that they are less like words used so often that they roll off the tongue wrong and don’t sound like words, but more like emotions that are rooted deep in the base of her skull that she can’t get rid of. Emotions that resonate in a powerful knocking on the door that she keeps hearing even though she knows it isn’t real. Emotions that slam her down onto the cold floor and croon at her; emotions that sort of sound like Dave telling her how proud her mother must be of her, how fucking proud. She listens to him even though she knows he isn’t real either. And maybe that isn’t dark or pristine per say, but its pretty sad, she thinks. Fittingly sad for a story that doesn’t need an ending because it wasn’t a story in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story originally posted at my art blog www.lusciouspuppetass.tumblr.com  
> This "village" that Rose is in is meant to be a metaphor for her mind, which she eventually traps herself in. I apologize for the art, its been months since I made this, but I'm glad to finally be able to post the story.


	2. Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on Rose's descent into alcoholism.

Her hand cups your face and she leans over, planting a kiss on the side of your mouth. She leans back, appearing mildly discouraged, and when she leans in again she plants it full on. She has soft lips that you can feel that bumps of her fangs behind when you smooch. Ceasing the kiss and stroking your jaw with her knuckles, you watch through lidded eyes as hers fall. Her hand stills on your face and you move it off as gently as you can before running your fingers through her hair, right at the base of her horns. Slowly her breathing evens out and you stare at the sleeping troll next to you. She really is an unconventional beauty. Her cheek bones are jagged and her lips are thin, normally pursed, but relaxed in sleep. She’s flushed green from your cuddling and you wish you remembered how it came to happen. 

You can clue together pieces as much as you want. The two of you were researching together and you could feel: your feelings were welling up so you excused yourself to a glass or four of what she referred to as “human soporific” (which you discovered was the troll equivalent of weed. The revelation made you laugh at the time and later you thought about it with a tall glass of alcohol and you wanted to cry). After that things get hazy, and you patch at it while you pet her silky hair. You would have stumbled back to Kanaya and she’d have given you a look of disappointment such as she knew she was dealing with “Stupid Rose”. You wouldn’t have cared at the time. You would have pressed on, lovingly, naively. The two of you probably fooled around; that and the alcohol were becoming more commonplace. 

Then you honestly don’t know. Nothing too bad could have happened, since you’re both curled up, fully clothed in your bedroom. You coil your fingers around her delicate horn and startle when she snorts and shuffles closer to you in her sleep. She looks so peaceful. You want to look like that too, but you’ve got a pounding headache and the strongest urge to piss. Instead of getting up to relieve yourself you notice her hand is dropped to your shoulder and remember from somewhere that she is a light sleeper. 

Winding a hand in her black hair reminds you a bit of John’s. His hair that is. And his sleeping mannerisms. You recall that he is in fact a heavy sleeper and you would find yourself smirking at the image of him sleeping through the apocalypse if the image of him snuggled up in your arms hadn’t ensued it. You weigh the thought in your mind: it’s a heavy one. John was quite the attractive thirteen year old from what you had seen and by no means does having a handsome boy in your arms turn you off, yet the thought is mere to mildly upsetting. You feel your stomach turn thinking about him. He should be the one in bed with you. Smooching your lipstick stained lips so hard that you could feel his ridiculous buck teeth through the shell of his lips. He would probably love Stupid Rose you think, and the thought makes your insides twist and not in a good way. Your mind flashes briefly to Karkat’s shipping chart. Yeah you are definitely feeling ill. Kanaya shifts next to you, murmuring in her sleep. Your eyes strain with tears and you look up into the ceiling, wishing you’d had more alcohol. You don’t deserve John for all you were supposed to have him. A glance downwards is spared to your girlfriend (unconventionally, matesprit) snuggled tightly into your bed and you definitely don’t deserve her. 

You shut your eyes, feeling exhaustion in your spine and right underneath your eyes where the tears are building. She huffs against your shoulder, moving closer when you feel the first tear loll. A burning sensation in your retinas blurs your vision and it makes you wonder if this is how your mother felt curled up on the sofa at one AM, passed out after a good round of hysterics. You shut the thought of her down. It hurts that you found out too late that she really did mean well with you. 

Wiping your eye with your free hand you think, not for the first time, that there is no such thing as Smart Rose. Just Dumb Rose who knows a lot of big words and rhetoric, and tries to impress her friends. The burning distorts you vision when you think about how fast Kanaya will break up with you when she figures out your stupidity isn’t just a side effect of the human soporific, but a side effect of your existence. It takes you ten minutes of silent sniffling to convince yourself that it is for the best. 

Wiping the the bags under your eyes for the last time, you close your lids, scratch your crotch and let sleep come onto you like a drug. Its good because you feel like nothing when you’re asleep. 

Turning over silently to cuddle with your girlfriend, you pray to whatever Horrorterrors are out there that you won’t have to wake up in the morning.


End file.
